The Strangest Secrets
by Valentina-Lestrange
Summary: All of us have secrets no matter how stupid and petty they may seem. No matter what nature they are of, they can be like weights on our shoulder or a knife in your stomach. And sometimes, they need to be revealed. Five Drabbles on the Blacks.
1. Regulus

**Regulus**

_'I sometimes lock myself in a room and just sit,'_

_..._

"Regulus Arcturus Black get out of the bathroom or I will hex you into the next century!" snapped the irritated blonde outside the battered wooden door.

Regulus Black is sat in the otherwise empty bath tub, a book held lazily in one hand, his wand stuck behind his left ear and one of his cousins husbands cigarettes hanging out of his mouth. Many of his social status would be scandalised by such an atrocity: he is only fifteen after all. But he looks a few years older and Rodolphus had no qualms over supplying his cousin with the stuff. Nobody close to him really cared anyway, apart from his mother, as his father and uncle both smoked like chimneys.

"Coming Narcissa," he sighs in an irritated fashion, stubbing out the cigarette and shoving what was left into the pocket of his black trousers. He had been quite happily reading until she came along but, he thought idly, that was Cissa for you. He opened the door and gave her a look as if she had just thrown up over his shoes, "You called cousin?"

"Get out of the way you little rat," she sniffed, pushing past him with her make-up bag in hand. She moved over to the mirror without another word and began to poke and prod her face with various implements. She paused to pull out some sort of powder brush from the bag, "What're you doing in here anyway?"

"Is it any of your business?" he asked, trying to imitate the cool indifferent manner his elder brother favoured. He rather enjoyed his brothers company even if he was a Gryffindor.

"Drop the act, Regulus, it doesn't suit you,"

His expression became sullen, "I sometimes lock myself in the bathroom," he shrugged.

She threw him an expression over her shoulder, "Freak,"

"What? I like the peace and quiet,"

"Get yourself a girlfriend Reggie. Now scram, you little insect, I need to use the facilities," she said, pushing him out of the room, "And remove your wand from behind your ear. Anybody would think you were a Lovegood,"

He walked to his bedroom. Closing the door, making sure the 'Do Not Disturb' sign was on it, he threw the book and his wand onto his bed. He soon followed, rubbing his hands over his face before surveying the ceiling in a bored fashion. What was her problem? He was just locking himself a room away from the world for a little while - why was she, of all people, grumbling about it? This wasn't even her house.

The walls of his bedroom were littered with newspaper clippings and articles that he, secretly, no longer cared for. The Dark Arts frightened him. Even in his own bedroom there were reminders of what he had got himself into. In the bathroom there was nothing. He was safe there.


	2. Sirius

**Sirius**

_'Some people think I'm crazy because I talk to myself all the time. The truth is I have no one else to talk to,'_

He loathed this cell. He loathed every single particle that created its existence. It made him feel like an animal. Like a creature. It made him feel alone. All of his life he had been surrounded by people. People he loved. People he hated. People he tolerated. No matter who was there, there was always someone to talk with, to argue with, to debate with. Someone to talk to.

Now things had changed. He had been framed and thrown into prison for not only a crime but a crime that would have made him involved in the death of his best friend. They said he was evil. They said he was crazy. They said he was a Death Eater. He sees it in their eyes as they walk past his cell. He hears it in the screams of the people incarcerated in the accompanying cells. He tastes it in the stale air that hangs around this place like death. And he talks to himself. Oh, the sound of his voice is the one thing that assures him of his sanity. The constant reminder that this is not his fault, that it wasn't him who betrayed James and Lily, that he won't lose his mind to this hell. He was innocent.

When the guards had walked past his cell, heard him whispering his godsons name over and over like a prayer, they'd call him mad. When the Chief of Security had walked past his cell, heard him threaten to escape and kill the one who did this to him, he called him mad and ordered more Dementors around his wing. When his cousin had been dragged past him, heard his protests of innocence, she called him mad and cowardly. They all thought him mad.

But he was merely lonely. Longing for sane conversation. Longing for intelligent conversation. Longing just for plain conversation. They say talking to yourself is the first sign of madness... in fact, he was pretty sure that a mirror in his house had once told him that. He disagreed. Talking to yourself is the only way of keeping yourself company during the hardest and loneliest of times.


	3. Narcissa

**Narcissa**

_'I just want you to be proud of me for once,'_

Dear Bella,

How are you keeping? I understand that the weather in France is dire at present. That's awful luck, I must admit, as I have heard that France is normally quite beautiful at this time of year. Though I suppose you've always liked the rain.

Everything is rather boring back at home. I've been staying at with Uncle Orion and Auntie Walburga as mother decided it would be the perfect time to redecorate so, consequently, the house is an absolute mess. I've been babysitting the boys a lot as well. Sirius is being a pest, as usual, but Regulus is tolerable if slightly annoying. I keep on finding him sat fully dressed in the bath tub staring at the wall. I'm thinking of taking him to a Healer. What do you think? And I also fear most greatly for his health if he continues to smoke those dratted cigarettes. Could you maybe have a word with Rodolphus and get him to cut down on the amount he supplies Regulus? I know Reg thinks nobody cares about this habit but I can't stand it.

Anyway Bella, I have started this letter with the intent to tell you of the most exciting news. I have overheard mother and father talking to the Malfoys over the last few weeks and I do believe they intend on marrying me to their son Lucius. I have met him a few times at parties and found him to be the most charming man. I know you and he attended Hogwarts at the same time - what is your opinion of him?

Oh, I'm so excited Bella. Me, Narcissa Black, married at last. Just think of it!

I'm afraid I must finish my letter here as Kristina Parkinson will be calling by soon. Give my best to Rodolphus and Rabastan (and to Monsieur and Madame Lestrange if you see them).

Lots of love,

Your sister, Narcissa.

PS: I do hope you approve of Lucius. I just want you to be proud of me for once.


	4. Andromeda

**Andromeda**

_'I draw pictures of caged birds on my homework because I want someone to know I feel trapped inside'_

"Miss Black? A word please,"

Scooping up her books from her desk and dumping them in her satchel, Andromeda Black looked wistfully towards the retreating Hufflepuff she had to work with as a lab partner, before moving over to Professor Slughorn's desk. He had conjured himself an enormous squishy armchair and his greedy fingers were already reaching towards a box of crystallised pineapple. She listened as the heels of her scuffed shoes clattered on the floor.

"Yes sir?" she asked pleasantly. She liked her Head of House well enough, despite his obvious favouritism, and did not wish to offend him.

"It's about your homework," he started, noisily chewing on his food.

"Is something wrong with it?" she asked worriedly.

"No dear, on the contrary it is of a wonderful standard," he chuckled as she let out a sigh of relief, "I just wanted to enquire on why you insist on drawing caged birds on your work?"

She blushed deep crimson, an ugly flush on her pale skin, and struggled to find words, "I just like them?" she said uncertainly.

He paused as he finished his pineapple, "They are beautiful, my dear, but I find pictures of caged Phoenixes rather depressing. If you were to put a little more effort into drawing diagrams of your potions results, however, I may not mind so much," he added with a wink.

"Certainly sir,"

She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. She hated being interrogated by teachers. She didn't exactly mean to draw them but she was always a few steps ahead of her class mates and it was just a way to pass the time. They meant nothing. Right?

"Oh and Miss Black?" she froze, "Please remind Narcissa and Bellatrix that I wish them to attend my next party. Talented young witches, your sisters. You'll be invited too of course,"

"Oh yes, of course I will sir,"

...

"Miss Black?"

She looked up from her work, the hedgehog she was supposed to be turning into a pincushion scuttling to safety, and set her eyes on her Transfiguration professor. Professor McGonagall was sat across from her, the few lines she had on her face accentuated by the expression of worry on her face. Noticing this Andromeda predicted that this may take a long time and set down her wand.

"Are you alright Miss Black?" she asked, "You've been looking a little ill recently and you're not as active in class as you used to be. Is there anything you wish to tell me?"

Andromeda felt her eyes inexplicably being drawn to the Hufflepuff boy sat on the other side of the room. Her heart soared like a Phoenix in flight at the sight of his smile and she had to drag her eyes away from him to reply to her Professor. She found that her teacher was looking at her most curiously.

"No Professor, I can't think of any reason other than I've just been a little tired recently," she lied.

McGonagall gave her a small, knowing smile and nodded, rising out of the chair, "Well, I know I'm not your head of house, but we teachers are always here to support you if you need us,"

Andromeda tried to muster up a smile but, she felt dread creep into her stomach, and it froze on her lips.

Maybe I don't draw birds because I like them, she thought vaguely, maybe I draw pictures of caged birds on my homework because I want someone to know I feel trapped inside.


	5. Bellatrix

**Bellatrix**

_'I hate that the only person who can make me smile is the one that makes me cry,'_

She fell to the floor in white-hot agony as noiseless screams were torn from her throat. She felt the sweat dripping down her brow and every muscle in her body beg silently for relief. But he allowed her nothing. The pain, this time, was concentrated on her back, warping and crippling it, until she thought that every vertebrae had shattered under the stress. She dug her fingernails into the wooden floorboards as a way to release the hurt.

"Very good," came the cool assessment from the corner.

And the pain was gone.

She relaxed and rolled onto her back, allowing the feeling to return to her limbs, one of the pent up tears of agony slipping down her cheek. She wiped away angrily, her arm clumsy from the torture, and squeezed her eyes shut tight. Her skimpy black camisole was stuck to her skin with sweat and she supposed her black tailored trousers were in the same state (though she would not be able to tell until the feeling in her legs returned).

"Thank you my lord," she breathed.

"You handled the pain well and you did not scream once. Yes, I am satisfied with your progress, Lestrange,"

She felt the smallest of grimaces tug at her features. She hated it when he called her by her married name. Just another reminder of her limits. Just another reminder that she was property. Just another reminder that she could never fully belong to him. She felt more tears threaten to boil over her lids and show weakness. She forced them away.

"You do not like it when I call you that, do you Bella?" he asked softly.

She dared not open her eyes, "No my lord," she admitted, though she felt something soar in her stomach when he called her by her pet name.

"Very well. You may go now,"

She moved forwards slowly, still sore, and kissed the hem of his robes, "Thank you my lord,"

With her eyes closed she could not see the expression on his face when he contemplated just how much control he had over her. Despite her loyalty, her trust and her love for him, he knew that she hated that he made her cry. But he knew, he knew most definitely, that as long as he made her feel important, as long as he 'trusted' her and as long as he made her insane enough to smile at his torture, she would be loyal.


End file.
